


Scissors

by littleblackfox



Series: The Thrice Damned Fic [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Also Horror, Body Horror, Demon Bucky Barnes, Demon Steve, M/M, Never Take Career Advice From Demon Bucky, Snakes, Why Did It Have To Be Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackfox/pseuds/littleblackfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I’m saying is that there is nothing holding your face to the fuckin’ floor except you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scissors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lasgalendil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/gifts).



> Waaay back when I first wrote Bukavac, Lasgalendil said they wanted to hear Bucky tell the dead hoards/priest story.  
> Here you go!

What? No, seat’s not taken. Fill yer boots.  
Just sit the fuck down, okay?  
Bad day, huh? Yeah, I’ve been there. Heh. You wouldn’t know the half of it, man.  
Hey barkeep. Another one of these. What the fuck is wrong with ‘barkeep’. It’s a bar, you’re keepin’ it. Jeez.  
Mmm? What? No, go on. Got nothin’ better to do. Waitin’ on my guy.  
Shitty boss? Yeah? How so?  
Undermines you? Fuck. No, I’m not laughing. What else has this _terrible_ boss done?  
Yeah? That don’t sound so bad.  
Oh, excuse me. Just. No, nothing.  
Seriously, it don’t matter.  
Alright, fine. What’s your name? Robert? Alright, Hob.  
Hob. It’s short for Robert? What the fuck? Since always! Alright, alright. Bobby? Bobby. It strikes me that you’re getting wound up over petty little shit. I mean, yeah the guy sounds like an asshole, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not like he’s salted your crops or burned down your house.  
I dunno, it’s all a matter of perspective.  
Mr barkeeper sir, may I please have another beer. No, I’m not fuckin’ with ya, I just wanna drink.  
Okay Bobby. You think you got a shitty boss? Lemme tell you a little story.  
A while back, I mean, a long while back, I was in Europe working for this… _monumental asshole_. I mean, I’ve worked for some real pieces of shit in my time, but this guy. Fuck. On my ass twenty four fuckin’ seven. Bu… Barnes, burn down that forest. Throwing my fuckin’ name around all the damn time. Bad enough having his fuckin’ High Priest yellin’ for me every five minutes, he has to weigh in with every pissy little whim too. Barnes, build me a road, kill those Gauls. Barnes, I wanna dip my wick and Flavius’ wife is a bit of alright. Kill him while they’re fucking, bring her to me still wet...  
That’s a hell of a cough. You okay? Hey, a beer for the guy turning purple.  
Alright? Yeah, you’re alright.  
So, anyway. This shit has gone on long enough, and Flavius wasn’t so bad, y’know, for a legatus. Started out with nothing, ended up an emperor. You gotta admire that kind of shit. Workin’ your way up, rather than have a bunch of priests an’ Demons doing all your shit for you.  
What? You’re lookin’ a little pale there.  
So anyway, I haul ass over to Britannia and appear in his tent in all my might an’ glory before him, flaming wings, three heads, the whole three ring circus. And when he’s stopped pissing himself I tell him about this asshole who wants to bang his wife. And have him killed. Well, luckily for him he’s busy scrapping with the Catuvellauni and hasn’t seen Domatilla in years. So I tell him not to go running off to the other side of europe for a quickie and that he owes me a favour.  
You want another one? Hey Mr beer vendor?  
Thanks.  
So off I go back to the monumental asshole and wait it out.  
You see, the thing is. Everybody fucks up. However smart you are, or careful, or powerful, you’ll eventually fuck up. You wait long enough, they’ll make a mistake. And then you’ve got them.  
So the asshole had this circle, marble and gold and cost a fuckin’ fortune, and that was where he’d summon me. Cause the circle ain’t just a chain, it’s a prison. Demon in a circle can’t fuckin’ touch you. But a Demon _outside_ a circle, that's a whole other thing. So one day he’s sat in the bath and decides he needs his ass kissing, so starts shouting for me.  
Yeah. No circle. Just a fat, naked fuckwad and little ole’ me.  
And yeah, you could just rip his throat out, or reach in his chest and smash things up in there, but this guy was a real piece of shit and you can’t pass up an opportunity when it lands in your lap like that.  
You need another drink? You sure? You look all… Grey. Alright, then. Your loss.  
So anyway, you wanna freak out a guy, you can’t just go all out, you gotta build things up first. Otherwise his heart will crap out on you before you’ve gotten going. So start small. Coils of smoke are good. A couple of snakes, or rats. Then, y’know, more, an’ more until they’re crawling up the walls and the floor is, like, awash with them. A sea of rats swarming and squirming around them. Insects are another good one. Half a dozen cockroaches at first, then just keep adding more and more until it looks like the floor is boiling. And you gotta remember the smell, too. Thick and acidic, really get it coating the back of the throat.  
Hey, Mr Beer Vendor. You alright? You sure?  
Okay, where was I?  
So yeah, the room is full of snakes, or rats or whatever, you pulls them all together to make a giant, writhing mass, give it arms and legs and then, scream or roar or make a noise and boom! Down they go. Hah, fuckin’ riot.  
So anyway, there I am, and there is the fat naked fucker, and a room is full of snakes. Fillin’ up the bath, pouring out the drain, everywhere. And he finds his tongue and starts screaming for his High Priest.  
So, yeah. Fuckin’ christmas. And the High Priest is a weaselly little prick, all bowing and scraping to his master and then taking shit out on the slaves. Like kicking a guy who’s already at the bottom will actually improve your fuckin’ lot? He comes in and sees me there and starts shrieking. I mean, high pitched squealing. Ow. And he runs.  
But those slaves? The guys he’s been beatin’ down all this time? They see a good thing and bar the door. Fuckin’ beautiful, it was. Fat fucker in the bath bellowing away and limp streak of piss scratching at the door squealing like a piglet.  
Now there’s a lot you can do in a locked room situation. Blood running down the walls, fire, rising water until you’re struggling for your last breath. You can play the guilt card and have every person they’ve had murdered rise up from the dirt and demand atonement. But humans are scared shitless of their own mortality, so shambling hoards of the undead. I mean, you guys love your zombies so it’s probably not so effective these days, but back then if you wanted to make some rich fucker lose his mind? Rotting corpses.  
Hey Mr Barman, can I get another? And get one for yourself. C’mon Bobby, have a drink.  
Thanks.  
Alright, so in one corner we have the fat fucker surrounded by decomposing corpses. Eyes melted away, flesh hanging off their bones, flies everywhere. And they’re pinning him down while the rotting remains of Domitilla is straddling his lap and making kissy faces at him. In the other corner we have the squealing Priest, who at this point is curled up in a ball crying for his nanny.  
Heh. Anyway, the fucker ends up drowning himself. And the High Priest, well I left him there. Little shit had lost his mind at that point and was just sitting in a puddle of his own piss and sucking his thumb.  
My point is.  
Hey Bobby? Bobby! You listening?  
My point is, don’t take any shit. Bide your time, because they will fuck up, and when they do, you gotta be ready.  
Don’t take no shit from anyone. Doesn’t matter if they own you, they ain’t better than you.  
So maybe next time your big boss says ‘Hey Bobby. Come in here and kiss my ass’ instead of just bending down and puckering up like you always do. And you always do, Bobby. Don’t lie to me. Next time grab a pair of scissors off his desk an’ maybe jam them into his throat. Nice and deep. See if he wants to fuck with you again. You’ll wanna take a step back because the carotid will spray like a fuckin’ burst water main.  
Huh? Whaddya mean you can’t do that? It’s easy. Quick jab, over in seconds.  
Fine, be like that. No killin’ then.  
All I’m saying is that there is nothing holding your face to the fuckin’ floor except you, Bobby. Your shitty boss doesn’t own you, he doesn’t control you, and if he tells you to do something you don’t want you can tell him to go fuck himself without it burning up your very essence.  
So next time he tells you to kiss his ass, tell him to get fucked. Maybe jab him in the shoulder with those scissors, just lightly. Not enough to break skin, just enough to throw him off. Because he’s got nothin’ on you, Bobby. The only power he has over you is what you give him. And maybe you’ll get fired but so fuckin’ what? Get another job, do somethin’ different. Shit, throw it all in and flip burgers.  
Hey, Stevie! There you are. C’mere.  
What? Aww, c’mon, it’s fine. Twenty first century, no one cares.  
Bobby, this is my guy Steve. Stevie, this is Robert. We were talkin’ about shitty bosses.  
I ain’t drunk. Just had a couple. Ask Mr Barman there.  
C’mon, have a drink. Just one.  
Hmpf.  
Fine, but you’re gonna make it up to me.  
Heh. Yeah.  
Alright, see you guys around. And Bobby? Scissors, yeah? Fuckin’ yeah.


End file.
